The Village Inn
by warwick-witch
Summary: Being a princess was like walking in very thick mist somewhere in the moors. There was always someone holding her hand and telling her where to go. Then one day a new voice came along and there was a new hand holding her, leading her off the track. 1x14


The Village Inn

Back when she used to live in the castle, she didn't even give much thought to the village. Of course, she knew that there was one, and that the servants sometimes went there on their days off, and that sometimes people from the villages came to the castle to sell and trade. She also knew that there were mostly women and children living there, because of the war with the ogres. She'd been there a couple of times, of course, when there was a fair, when the peasants needed someone to look pretty and smile for them, so they would forget about their troubles for a moment and feel that the king and his family care about them.

_(The king and his family clearly don't care about Belle.)_

When she used to be princess, she would sometimes look out the window at nighttime and observe the lights marking the small cottages in the distance. As the war went on, the lights became more scarce and they didn't last as long as they had in the past. She was being protected by thick stone walls, a moat, a heavy door and a multitude of knights in shining armor and she didn't have to worry about anything. She was engaged to be married.

_(Gaston is missing and there isn't a single person in the castle that doesn't blame her_._)_

Her favorite room in the castle was the library. The tall bookshelves were intimidating and challenging. She soon discovered that the books near the floor were very down to earth indeed, mostly cookbooks, volumes on housekeeping, gardening, needlework and the like, and she had to use the old, wooden ladder to reach the more demanding ones. Fortunately, hardly anybody ever came to the library and there was no one to tell her that she could fall off the ladder and hurt herself, and that, generally speaking, climbing ladders was not very lady-like.

_("Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to fall down or anything."_

_ "If you say so, dearie. Please try not to bleed too much when you break your neck, I've only just had the new floors laid in the dining hall.")_

Being a princess was like walking in very thick mist somewhere in the moors. There was always someone who would hold her hand and tell her where to go and talk her through each step she was going to take: ballroom dancing, receiving guests, knitting, sitting down graciously. Accepting a proposal. Getting married. There was only one path, one voice and one hand leading her.

_(The path was left untended and disappeared, the voice is gone and the hand feels cold and dead.)_

Then one day a new voice came along and there was a new hand holding her, leading her off the track. At first she obediently followed and did whatever was asked of her, as usual, but as the days went by the mist that had previously been wrapping her whole existence with her long, ghostly fingers, began to fade. She was really enjoying the view from the tiny dungeon window, much more than she enjoyed the view from her balcony when she used to be princess.

Being with Rumpelstiltskin was like learning to ride a bike: there comes a moment where the person running behind you lets go of the stick and, without realizing, you're on your own, doing really well.

Until you realize that they had tricked you into trusting them and you panic, and fall.

_("Go.")_

She was a prisoner and she could never leave the walls of his estate but she was free to and say whatever came to her mind. He didn't give much thought to social conventions and neither did he treat her like a slave. He was more of an observer than a master. She was a bird in a cage but at least it wasn't a bell-glass this time and there was air and sunlight coming in through the gaps between the bars. And he even opened the door for her once and let her fly away.

Only to cut off her wings when she came back.

_("I don't want you anymore, dearie.")_

When she first came into the inn, she didn't notice that was badly lit and dirty. She didn't care the table was sticky and the bench was very uncomfortable. There was a draft coming from the window and there is no fire in the fireplace. She didn't know why she chose to come there of all places. She didn't remember much between hearing the heavy castle gates shut behind her and pushing open the shabby inn door. The hinges must have been pretty rusty judging by the awful noise it made but no one paid any attention to her. No one still does.

_(Sitting in the village inn among the dwarves is like being princess again.)_


End file.
